Dear Mr Uchiha
by Quaterpastzero
Summary: It's a story of 'love' letters written by Naruto to Sasuke. Telling in the first person's perspective of a high school girl named Uchiha Sayori, who was an adopted child of famous cellist Sasuke Uchiha. Before WWI. SasuNaruSasu.
1. Chapter 1

Notes: First person's perspective of a high school girl named Uchiha Sayori, who was Sasuke's adopted child. Sasuke was a famous cellist living in London while Naruto was a businessman in Spain as well as a music lover who'd donated a lot of money in charity performance. The whole story happened before World War I, approximately before and after 1900, so there wouldn't be telegram or other ways of correspondence that came later on.

xXx

Dad never told me, not even once, but I knew there's someone special out there that he cared very much except for his beloved cello. I never asked him, not even once. It's not because I thought I couldn't ask or I thought he wouldn't answer me - with his endless patience for me, he'd never ever turned me down, but because I somehow realized dad might not want to openly share this part of his heart. Yes, I used 'heart' to describe for the reason that I exactly felt it this way. I saw many times, countless times, when he was seated in that soft cushioned armchair in his study, with his favorite Bach in the background and woods cracking in the fire, he went through those letters - letters from a man named Naruto Uzumaki (I didn't tell him I'd secretly taken a glimpse once.). They were far more than merely correspondences from a closed friend, not to say I'd never seen this man show appearance in our house in London. I even doubted that my dad met him in other occasions - maybe some concerts or his performance tours, but I wasn't sure. How could someone you've never met to become your closed, or even intimate friend? That's another question I wouldn't ask him either. I couldn't help but became very very curious. The curiosity grew more obvious after Dad left for his new tour in Austria. I knew where those letters were saved, which made it easier to rediscover and explore.

So, that day, the second day dad was away, after I finished my daily routine including 8 hours practice in Cello and Piano (half for Cello and half for Piano), I sneaked into dad's study and shut the door silently. I didn't want Joseph, our housekeeper, know I was in Dad's place and stayed unexpectedly longer than usual though I figured if after 8 pm I was not in my room (which is on the second floor instead of the first) reading, he would finally be aware of it. I promised myself I would be there even if I didn't finish those letters. Uchihas always keep their self-restraint no matter what.

My hands shook a bit when I approached the bookshelf where those letters were kept, though I didn't quite realize it until my hands reached them and pulled them out of a faked book cover. Last time when I saw it, I couldn't help but sniggered at dad's choice of Dickens' _Great Expectations_ while he claimed that he never liked Dickens' books. How conflicted and complicated his expression always was. People outside our family could never understand Uchihas' true feelings under our icy and (appeared to be) untouchable look. I was proud I had this surname though I knew I was merely an adopted child. I was more like a student rather than a daughter of dad. But that didn't keep me away from understanding how my dad's expression and feelings functioned. He had his poker face all the time but when he was shaken or moved by someone somehow, I just could tell it by large amount of intangible and unusual details in his steady habits and schedules. There's once, probably the very first time he received a letter from this Mr. Uzumaki, his practice of No.1 G Major was a bit longer than usual. Maybe just twice longer but that meant a lot. If you know what I know and see what I see, you can understand it too. Dad was a perfectionist and likely had Obsessive-compulsive Disorder, which meant he'd never done things out of control. His Bach was perfect, so were his Beethoven and Hadyn. Even the meanest and harshest critics couldn't deny it. But at that moment, he lost his feeling of time. I could tell at that time, when he was dived in his music, he'd been apparently obsessed by something else that couldn't be verbalized.

I placed myself slowly in the armchair where dad usually sat. I wasn't aware consciously where it was because I was distracted by the number of letters (maybe shocked at the same time). There were a plenty, way more than the last time I got a chance to check it (which was three months ago). The stamps on the envelopes indicated that the very first one was dated back nine months ago. I remembered there was an occasion that dad went for an invited chamber play in Santiago and figured _that_ was probably the time when he met this Mr. Uzumaki. That made sense. Letters from the first four months all came from Spain. Dad must keep these letters very carefully because even after nine months this very first one was still very neat, there wasn't any difference of the seal between the first one and the last one, which displayed a clear mark of whirlpool on it. I guessed it could be a symbol of family name because we Uchiha had one, too, appearing like a round fan.

In case dad found out what I did here (which he would ultimately with his sharp eyes, or maybe just his gut - I didn't know how exactly it worked every time he discovered my faults), I carefully unsealed it without even putting a fingerprint on the wax. I'd read this one before, from which I realized my dad and this Mr. Uzumaki weren't just friends, but except some key sentences, I barely remembered any other details. This time, I decided to take it as a personal research - odd but interesting to think it in this way. Come on, curiosity came first. You couldn't blame me for doing this. It was not that I was going to tell everyone or something else like that. In case you don't know, Uchihas don't do gossips.

OK. Here comes the first one.

Dear Mr. Uchiha,

Great honor to have you last Friday evening, playing Bach mostly and some Schubert as well. I didn't mean any slight sense of flattering or exaggerating but I had to say, I couldn't help but absolutely be attracted by your way of performance. I've never thought it could happen on me before, not because I'm a high-maintenance person (it could be though since we both grew up surrounded by classic), but because it never occurred to me that I could feel music flowing in that way-like the way you played. It was just like a crack of winter ice above the lively spring, mildly and gently, but reversing my whole experience before. Again, I'm not exaggerating. As the whole night we talked a lot and got to know each other better, I assumed you'd be aware that I'm an honest and quite straightforward person.

Probably you'd noticed, the Schubert part was a purposed incident. Everyone knows you'd perfected in Bach, which made me more curious how you'd do if you encounter with some others like Schubert (we could save Schumann for the next time). I 'accidentally' inserted one piece of it in your files (and yes it's me who helped you place them on the shelf) and expected what you would react on it. And, well, I couldn't say I was disappointed by your calm appearance or not even showing any hesitation playing it (Besides, why would I feel it that way?) but I definitely was surprised that some romantic sense was underlying there in your heart but no one ever discovered it. I've read some critiques on your music saying lack of emotions or sentiments, and so on so forth, but right now, I could just tell them that it's far away from the truth. I was so touched by your way of interpreting Ave Maria that when we talked afterwards I even didn't want to admit that there were tears in my eyes when you played it. I felt ashamed I was so easily shaken but the truth is I kept thinking of it, even after you left for home. I've even dreamt it once. There's you playing the cello for me. I was awake with tears dropping from the corner of my eyes.

You have no idea how grateful I am having taken my friend's advice and finally invited you to play. It's not merely about me as a music lover respecting your reputation, though I did admire it after you played the very first line of No.1 G Major. It's not merely about the familiarity I felt after we got in touch, either, though I did realize the way we interacted with each other was quite comfortable and natural. I like your sharp wits and great insights in music as well as in many other things we talked that night-you made me feel like a school boy again by drinking, talking, joking, laughing and staying up late together. How could we even possibly talk _that_ much things in one night? Not to mention we've just met that night earlier. I hardly remember anyone who could always get my reference as you did. I somehow think it as a doomed fate (I know it was probably way too romantic for you to think it in the same way so I won't push you to do that). It's stupid to think of it like that but I just can't come up with any other explanations of my feelings, not only for your music, but for you. It's about you that _finally_ met me that night. It's about us.

I felt very sorry that I didn't keep my words to contact you as soon as you arrived home. And as you should know, my hesitation had nothing to do with you personally. Or maybe it does personally, but not in a bad way. I wasn't sure when this letter was ended in your hands how you would feel about it. Maybe I'm too stupid to mention something happened between us-I wasn't even sure if there was 'something' or not. What made me eventually get the courage to do so was my gut. I just felt it so wrong if I'd just let it go.

Your Sincerely,

Naruto Uzumaki

I had to admit that last time when I read this, I was totally shocked by this Mr. Uzumaki's way of writing a letter like this to my dad. Not that I would show it on my face, but just as himself confessed, it's way too honest and straightforward for an Uchiha to take it. I kept wondering how dad reacted in the first place to read this but I didn't expect to get a real answer except his uncontrollable practice that day.

Better thing for me is that, this time I noticed the story behind there when dad encountered with this Mr. Uzumaki, and it could be very reasonable and irrational at the same time that dad would either very dislike this guy or very like him. Dad was well-mannered and had his pride and decency all the time, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be mad at anyone or tolerant of everything. He had his temper, good for a musician but bad for someone living together. Of course he'd been mad at me. In fact, it happened plenty of times when I was distracted by something from my practice. Dad's way of rage was horrible but different from those exhausted parents. He merely didn't look at me, or didn't acknowledge me, as if I wasn't there or not even existed. It's totally unbearable so I gave up every time and went back to practice to meet his demand. So, it made me a bit surprise that this Mr. Uzumaki could do dad such a mischief on his professional performance without being punished or blamed at all. Well, it could be that he was blamed but somehow survived under dad's moods, I couldn't know either but only guessed (and hoped) it should be like that.

Something I could also recognize was that this guy should be very easygoing as well as interesting, at least it appeared to be for dad. Dad wasn't someone very talkative in case you didn't know. He did necessary social intercourse sometimes to maintain his reputation in art circle, but you wouldn't ever use 'sociable' or 'outgoing' to describe his personality. He had his isolation and indifference in many cases, for his ambition in chasing the mystery of music independently. But the depiction of this Mr. Uzumaki made me realize that dad had his other side of characteristics which probably remained unknown for a lot of his fellow musicians, hence it became more interesting that somehow this Mr. Uzumaki discovered it under Uchiha's cool looking. Or maybe, it's just dad that thought it ok to reveal this side of himself to this Mr. Uzumaki. I couldn't tell but there's definitely something this Mr. Uzumaki did, or the way he interacted with my dad, that made it become reality.

It's a big pity that I couldn't get any of dad's letters to read. Now I was so _fucking_ curious how dad felt about this guy from that night, how he would respond to him, to his calling of their 'doomed fate' or to his feeling for dad and his music. I couldn't help but imagine when dad was playing his cello with all his emotions, there was someone who could feel it in the same way. I knew he'd struggled with it for a long time. I've read those comments from different critics, probably the same of those mentioned by Mr. Uzumaki. They'd admitted that my dad's techniques were all perfect though his lacking of emotions in performance always remained an issue in his play. It's not so true, not even closed to the truth compared to some other musicians I've listened, but it's just not me who was only a primary pianist that could say something to help. I'm glad to see this Mr. Uzumaki did. I know it meant a lot for dad.

I put the first handwriting letter back to the envelope and sealed it exactly the same way dad did. I kept every move of my hands in a slow pace to make sure nothing changed at all. I made sure that this kraft envelop was set at the end table properly before I started with another one. Night was falling outside so I had to light the oil lamp beside me. Everything was so peaceful and queit that I was easily immersed in reading the second one. It appeared to be a week and half later than the first one.

Dear Mr. Uchiha,

You wouldn't know how regretful I felt when I just stepped out of the post office after I sent the letter. I thought it would be a huge mistake which might ruin our relationship to say something directly like that. I didn't mean to mess up the chance that we could keep our friendship by writing anything stupid. It's a huge relief you finally wrote to me. Thank god and thank you.

I'd kept thinking of the way you play the cello which you modestly concluded as an experienced outcome. I hardly agree with you on it no matter how unprofessional you think I am. Not that I'm trying to underestimate your effort on practice-though it would be great if I could get a chance to watch it, I just don't want you to undervalue yourself or your performance. I know you've always been challenged by your fellows and some critics, but as you may notice, great writers were always criticized by the harshest words, the same were musicians.

I'm not flattering you (I know you would say so and don't ever try to deny it); I have my total reason to pay you a compliment when you deserve one. It is just that I could see the very nature in your performance-I assumed you'd realized that I'd got plenty of chances approaching other great musicians so I had fair enough opportunities to see and hear them playing. You have a warm and sensitive heart to not even let yourself turn me down after I wrote those inappropriate words, no wonder I could felt it in your music. That was something really touching me so much, and making you so different from many others, so unique and extraordinary. I knew you wouldn't like to take the word 'talented' as a compliment but rather an insult, so I won't use it to describe what you had. But I absolutely think it as a gift you're born with-not the techniques of your performance, but the way you feel things in life, the way you think of yourself and other people. I couldn't find someone like you that could be so cynical and extremely sentimental at the same time-remember when we talked about how people living in poverty struggled with unavoidable industrialization, how they could enjoy music the way we did when they barely had a shelter, I was very much inspired by your argument of promoting education among the public. You almost set a goal for my life. I just want you to realize that how much you could make an influence on people, especially on me.

I should have known that you knew it all the time but never bothered to mention it to embarrass me. But somehow I felt embarrassed you told me in your letter. I shouldn't assume you'd like to see my embarrassment, or should I? I guess it's probably your twisted interest to tease me in an unpredictable way. I have been aware of it since we got a bit drunk that night, when you mocked my interest in Romanticism, in Keats and Wordsworth. It's interesting to hear you recite their poems without a stammer for simply teasing me liking their sensitive emotions and metaphorical expression. I couldn't help but imagine how many of their works you have read before and how much exactly you do _not_ like them as you claimed. I mean, how could someone dislike those poems but remember _that_ many of them so well at the same time? It's so cruel even for yourself to do something like that. It's not like Jane Austen or Oscar Wilde that we had to read in our teenage years. I am so curious but somehow feel that you won't tell me the truth, or will you?

As you may know, there will be Wagner's emThe Flying Dutchman/em showing in Venice on the 4th of the next month and I got an invitation from the host for two. Though I'm not sure if you are already tired of me or if you may think Wagner is not your thing, or if you already have other plans at _that_ certain time, I still want to invite you to come with me. But I will understand if your practice and performance take priority.

Your Sincerely,

Naruto Uzumaki

To be honest, I'd grown more curious about this Mr. Uzumaki now when I was conscious of myself so enjoying reading his letter that I was actually grinning at it. I couldn't deny that it was so amusing to picture how dad and this guy mocked each other with romanticist poems and maybe laughed a bit as well after drinking some wine together. I tried to imagine how dad would possibly be grinning or smirking when he read this (because he did love Wordsworth a lot and Shelley as I know though he didn't seem to mention it to this Mr. Uzumaki) and it turned out for me too rare to ever imagine some similar expression like that on dad's face. There's no doubt this Mr. Uzumaki saw it that night-I felt a bit jealous of him having the capability of uncovering dad's cool shell.

After I finished this letter, I started to recall whether dad made this trip to Venice or not. I had a vague memory that he told me at that time he had a plan to Italy but didn't mention exactly where he would be. It was reasonable to presume dad'd been there eventually with this Mr. Uzumaki because this guy was so adorable with that tone of a kicked puppy at the end that no one would like to reject him, not even my seemingly cold-blooded dad who obviously was warmer than he appeared to be in this Mr. Uzumaki's eyes. I admired his way of understanding dad. He did somehow understand dad, much deeper than I expected someone outside the family could. I could hardly imagine that dad would like to admit his underestimation of himself or his struggles in his career in the letter due to his pride, and with his cool face on, most of his fellows and critics would take that as a sign of confidence, even arrogance. Therefore, it remained a mystery how this Mr. Uzumaki could see dad in this way. I mean, could it be just that one single reason that dad wrote back after this guy crazily expressed his fondness of dad ('s music)? I didn't know if dad could get his point or not. But I could definitely recognize how meaningful the underlying encouragement was for dad-there's once, when we hosted some musicians in our house and played the cello together after dinner, one of dad's friend pointed out that his performance was 'more natural and relaxed'. I wouldn't take that as an coincidence after I read this.

I couldn't wait any longer to start the third one. Before discovering what happened in their trip to Venice, I took a glimpse of the clock which had already shown 7:43 pm. I read the one held in my hands hungrily and more quickly (the second one was just under it) and hoped myself keep the promise.


	2. Chapter 2

Dear Mr. Uchiha,

I knew it! I knew it was an entire lie that you said you disliked this opera! I'd been totally aware of that since I was back home, sat in my armchair covered by wool blanket, and recalled that you accurately sang a part of it after we got drunk (again), sitting side by side on the riverbank. I don't believe you saying that was because your memory was too good. I know you are a genius. You are definitely A GENIUS. But this was not relevant to your intelligence but your interest, your passion, your love-your love for music, art and life, no matter how you were going to explain it to me. You are too contradicted yourself to convince me something like this. I won't believe you anymore, at least in this case, so don't ever try a word.

It's fantastic (probably except for you lying to me again after you confessed your interest in Wordsworth, you habitual liar) to have your accompany all the time in Venice. I'd appreciate that you made it even you'd clarified that you were engaged with something else. I figured you probably didn't want me to expect it too much (which I didn't, at all). How considerate you were (mark the sarcasm). I should have realized that you intended to make it as a surprise, shouldn't I? I assume you enjoyed my jaw abruptly dropping to the ground when I saw you appearing at the lobby of the opera house. I didn't mind losing some of my manners at that moment so long as you found it entertaining to see me with a surprised look-which I think you did because of your very conspicuous smirk on the face.

I enjoyed the opera very well, especially with you, which made it more special to remember. I like the whole story of this Dutchman voyaging across the English channel, facing with a sea-storm with his bravery, and I was quite impressed by Wagner's imagination of how music could reach such a level of powerful and colourful expression. Somehow I could really see the picture in an actual scenario. I've told you the story about my parents and their adventures to the Columbia and Caribbean Islands after the show. But, what I didn't tell you is that they both died in their last trip to Jamaica, which remained a nightmare of my entire childhood-I even had an issue in boating, once, when I was about sixteen-year-old. It may sound unimaginable for you since I do business across the Atlantic, but it's a truth I've never told anyone else. However, I feel like to tell you somehow. To let you understand me makes me so comfortable and peaceful inside. But that doesn't mean I ask for your sympathy or consolation, so don't be sorry. It's just I want you to know. Don't take it as a burden at all.

I was flattered when you said no one had communicated with you in this way before while I highly doubted that. I've seen you surrounded by fellow musicians when we were in Santiago, not to mention numbers of admirers coming up to meet you after Venice's show this time. I've been observing when you socialized with them, confidently and patiently. You always have your confidence and coolness to take everything under control and You always know how to make people listen to you carefully and concentratedly, including me, which makes me weirdly anxious as well as proud. But I do feel proud of you when everything looks just perfect on you. Have I ever mentioned your good looking? And your dark eyes shining like diamonds? And your pale face always with a glow? And your stylish hair spiking behind? And of course your elegant gestures like your hands holding a wine glass or bowing, or even just the profile of your body when you play the cello or stand still. I can keep on doing this from sunrise to sunset without even a break. Need no asking, I'm not ashamed of admitting something I truly feel, not at all. Quite opposite as you may already notice.

When we separated from Paris, I couldn't help but start to think the last gaze you sent to me. It's just way too complicated for me at that moment to diagnose and comprehend thoroughly. There were some annoyed feelings about the distance between us raising from the bottom of my stomach and made me a bit distracted. I wasn't sure it was my hallucination or the truth that it was slightly longer than usual, as if you'd tell me something but held back for some reason. Tell me I was wrong, otherwise, it will kill me if you are not planning to feed my curiosity.

Your Sincerely,

Naruto Uzumaki

My heart beat a bit faster as I tried to put letters back to each envelopes, so it caused some trouble not leaving any marks on the wax. But I didn't have enough time to erase them. The clock on the low cupboard warned me by its heavy and dull noise when it turned to 8. I, acting like a Cinderella who suddenly lost her whole magics, clumsily rushed out of dad's study and hastily jogged upstairs back to my room. I was panting for a while, leaning against the door after I shut it, but it was not merely about running or the fear of being caught by Joseph-those handwritten lines were still floating in front of my eyes and every word was telling me something other than friendship growing between dad and this Mr. Uzumaki. I knew I'd said I was aware of it, but that didn't mean I could take it in such a direct way-I was astonished when Mr. Uzumaki started to admire my dad with those words. It could be taken either a verbal harassment or flirting. I probably should assume dad chose the latter since they got plenty of letters after that.

When my calm finally came back to find me, I figured out my way to the desk, lit the lamp and settled down with a book in hands. Usually, it was about time to read my favorite Allen Poe. I'd been addicted to his tales of mystery for a quite long time while I realized that dad didn't agree with me reading fictions instead of literatures and poems. Yet he didn't judge it or say a word about it either. That's dad too. He didn't comment on anything he wasn't really familiar with or didn't fully understand. But, it became a little difficult today for me to concentrate. I didn't spare a look on which one I was taking in hands until Joseph knocked at the door, bringing me some hot herbal tea for good sleep.

When he stopped at my side table, gently putting the tea pot and cups there, he paused for a moment before he left.

"Is there anything wrong I could help, Miss?"

"No," I answered, with eyebrow furrowing, "Why're you asking?"

"Your book, Miss," Joseph reminded me with his genuine tone, "It's upside down."

I flushed abruptly. I immediately shut the book down to pretend nothing happened until Joseph thoughtfully left me behind in a silence. No wonder I couldn't recognize a word on it. I was so retarded as an Uchiha shouldn't be.

I put the book (eventually I found out that I'd finished this collective short stories before) back to the shelf and dropped myself on the bed, face buried in the pillow. I just couldn't stop thinking the words from this Mr. Uzumaki. How he described what happened between he and dad, how he felt and reacted at dad's intentionally holding back, and how he truly perceived those subtle but meaningful signals dad delivered (whether consciously or unconsciously, I didn't know). What he revealed between those lines was a dad I'd never thought he could be like, which made me curious about what dad was thinking, like, when he wrote to this Mr. Uzumaki that he probably wouldn't be there with the fact that he actually decided to go. I couldn't agree more with this Mr. Uzumaki that dad was a man full of paradoxes (and just don't call me a traitor, thanks) but I somehow understood why. Uchihas don't spit out instantly what and how we feel at the moment, totally opposite to this Mr. Uzumaki. It's a long-term habit or a matter of principle that we just can't let ourselves exposed to anyone as a protection. Family's history told me about it.

Nonetheless, it still didn't make any sense dad acted like a mischievous teenage boy hiding the truth on purpose, for the amusement seeing someone surprised by his appearance. It was almost like...he was trying to please this Mr. Uzumaki in an unpredictable way, wasn't it? I'd never thought dad would do something to make someone happy. His neutral expression and sometimes indifferent look made it more incredible. Most of the time, it was someone else that brought pleasure to him, to impress him, to get his acknowledgement or instruction, for chasing his reputation as well as his knowledge and skills in cello. I know you might want to ask: what about dad's performance? Well, so far as I could tell, music was dad's own thing, very personal, even a bit soul-related that no one was allowed to reach. He didn't really play the cello _for_ somebody. It was more like, he shared what he experienced in playing music and made a living from it. Indeed he would be delighted if someone felt the same way as he did, but it was something he wouldn't ask for. In Mr. Uzumaki's words, I almost felt dad received something over his expectation that he had to do something to return the favor. By a surprise, so on and so forth.

I wondered how dad could take it that this Mr. Uzumaki exposed himself so transparently that he even shared a secret of his past. Dad had his past, too, something made him suffer quite a lot in teenage years, which I'd secretly heard from Uncle Itachi once. I couldn't put it up in front of dad, need no explanations, though my bold guess was dad returned this Mr. Uzumaki some of his stories as well. Telling it was my gut. Dad sometimes could be surprisingly (for someone out of family to consider) and scrupulously fair when it was about give-and-take. I knew I could find the truth so long as I kept reading those letters. I was eager to read. But there were _hell_ lot more other work to do before I continued it tomorrow evening. It was the first time I hated the principle of Uchiha always keeping their words.

Probably because my fervour (for those letters) was so strong that I had dream that night, in which I was reading those letters, when dad appeared out of the blue with his terribly cold glare at me. I was suddenly awake, inhaling sharply as if I ran nearly out of breath. Truth to be told, it cooled my mind in such a wicked way and helped me at least focus on the practice of the second day.

The dusk painted the sky in a beautiful orange-purple mixed color and some extra sprays of sunset made the outline of clouds almost golden. When I'd done with the soup, cancelled the dessert and made my way to dad's study again, the sky outside was exactly the way I described. With the frames of french windows, it looked like an Flemish landscape oil painting, of those which dad took me to see several times in the National Gallery. I liked Vermeer very much, by the way. Both his light and shade were so subtle and vivid in a way that you couldn't capture it in the nature by merely your eyes. It was like a magic. Not to mention his way of designing a dramatic plot in each frame, like there was a story behind. Dad would like to encourage me to dig into all kinds of artworks, for expanding and extending my sensitivity and intuition in music-I presumed that was how it worked for himself, except for life experience, to deeply understand what Haydn or Bach was thinking when they composed those masterpieces.

Perhaps, that was also how he and this Mr. Uzumaki comprehended each other, by sharing the experience combined with art.

Ok. With my whole hypothesis on their situation, I started the fourth, not too much later than the third one-only five days, precisely, which made me wonder if he'd received dad's response or not.

Dear Mr. Uchiha,

I couldn't wait another second to write you back and tell you how fortunate I felt about meeting you, getting to know you, and building a constant relationship with you, no matter what it would come out at the end. Especially after you told me this story about yourself and about your parents. I've guessed once, when you mentioned the irreversible destiny of every individual in the flowing history (though at the beginning I thought it was you reading in philosophy that made it that way). Believe it or not, I had a feeling that it should do something with your past to come up with an idea of 'redeem' and 'regret'. You sounded like ready to devote and sacrifice yourself to some higher omniscient power, which I would strongly be against in case you really went that far. Before we discussed it, I just want you to know, your openness means a lot to me, a lot more than you can ever imagine, though it's not my initial purpose to share a secret with you. I was so thrilled by your willingness to tell me more about yourself that when I started to write the first letter, my hands just couldn't stop shaking (Please forgive my paw-like calligraphy this time).

I won't be presumptuous of thinking myself fully understand what was happening on you. It's way too arrogant to take someone's pain as something common and ask him to forgive everything. I'm not pretending myself a priest to persuade you everything could be forgiven on behalf of god. Not at all. It's just what you were saying reminded me of something I intended to forget. I'd like to share it with you.

When I had a job on a ferry about eighteen years old, the first mate was always telling me that good things never happened twice but bad things happened all the time. At that age, I couldn't get it. I couldn't accept it either. It's way too pessimistic for me to absorb, as if we could change nothing but our attitude against unfairness or misfortune. I somehow self-unconsciously feared thinking his words. Maybe it was my subconsciousness that alerted me to avoid the truth that every sailor had their fate facing with their unpredictable but unavoidable death in the sea. If I really considered his words then, I should have realized that it was not simply pessimism, or giving up on fighting, or maybe it was, part of it was, but in the rest, it was just their choice to live a life in this way. To make merry while the sun shines. Or say, follow your heart, _carpe diem_. I'd blamed Mom and Dad for their enthusiasm in adventures when I was a child instead of being proud of them. I'd blamed them for many years, for abandoning me to follow their passion in voyaging, for choosing such a way of life instead of keeping me company. I even evil-mindedly thought it was the guilty of not paying me enough attention that finally pushed them to the edge, to the death. But, after so many years, it turns out at the end, they didn't owe me anything. Not at all. What they chose was the destiny they themselves had to deal with. You are so smart to get my point, aren't you? I don't think what your parents chose, to take the risk of sickness while having the possibility of healing millions of lives out there, should end up a burden or a sin of your life. We had our sadness and sorrow, inevitably, and perhaps it will take many years to finally alter those angst into peace. Just don't blame yourself, and don't blame them either. I wouldn't like to see if you punish yourself or exile yourself. You deserve better than you think.

Good news I'd like to share with you is that I've started with the recruitment of musicians for meeting the demand of enough memberships to open a conservatoire. I plan to situate it in Vienna but too early to make any decision. Document issues came along with it-you know how the bureaucratic system works don't you? As you may notice, a form of confirmation is attached with the letter. I wish you to be the very first one to sign it. I've already assumed you'd like to. Not that I was too full of myself. It's you who build me the confidence about everything on you, remember? I won't miss any tiny little pieces of you trying to convince me that anymore, from now on. I'd highly noticed your 'special' way of encouragement, which easily both shakes my self-assurance and boosts my ego. In this case, my tolerability seems to be a good thing for both of us. At least, when you're denying something, it happens to me realizing what your true feeling is. Just admit it, I'm not as _that_ oblivious as you think I am.

Your sincerely,

Naruto Uzumaki

I didn't put back this one immediately after I finished reading it. I looked at the third paragraph, eyeing it back and forth like I was searching for something else, something deep in this Mr. Uzumaki's heart, in his mind. I stared at that one single Latin quote-'carpe diem'-for a quite long time that there'd be a hole if my eyes were laser. It almost shook the hardcore of my heart-I didn't even think much about dad at that moment. As a second reader of this letter, I could instantly found tears in my eyes, although I held it back and burst out a laugh at the end. It was nevertheless so touching.

My grandparents were both doctors majoring in microbial disease before they passed away twenty-five years ago. What I've learnt from Uncle Itachi was that there'd been a chance dad could have been a doctor too, because he respected my grandfather very much. But after they died in the plague of Birmingham, dad closed himself and changed his mind, working hard on music instead of any other thing.

I knew the feeling of trying to get away from some feeling you couldn't get rid of-I used to be an orphan, wandering through the streets and fearing the hunger and death happening everyday in the slum. Every night when I closed my eyes tightly, lying under some newspaper, I forced myself hard to dream of at least a full meal there. We had no choice but accept what we have, which was nothing. My luckiest day of whole life was the day dad picked me up on the street, asked if I love music or not. I said 'Yes', not because I knew who he was, which I didn't at the moment, but because I really did love music-I could listen a piece once and hum it accurately without a pause. That's I was born with, you could say that. And that's why I ended up here, having the access to dad's letters.

Even though, it was hard imagining dad's reaction in many ways. I mean, how could you possibly imagine something that'd never happened, not even once? I was thinking dad might be grinning, for getting some comfort, or he might be knitting his brows, for those words that'd never come into his mind. It was odd but I just couldn't think of dad dropping tears, or shaking, or burying his face in his hands, or vice versa. His cool shell was so perfect with not even a crack on it. It was a tough task for little me to get a chance finding some butterflies he truly had inside.

Funny thing was (which was also what made me laugh about), this Mr. Uzumaki had a sarcastic sense of humor, especially when it came to describe dad's contradiction. How hilarious it was to find someone teasing dad's indirect expression! I wondered whether dad would be upset or embarrassed reading it, knowing that someone knew him so well and was not going to pretend he didn't realize it. Perhaps, in other way, dad would be very glad to have someone so warm-hearted and open-minded to know what he was thinking, to have someone he could trust, to have someone he could be a _real_ himself in front of him.

I was trying to hide my big smile by pressing my lips together when I realized dad must comment on this Mr. Uzumaki 'oblivious' many times. I put back the letter while figuring that dad did really enjoy letting this Mr. Uzumaki read his mind and perhaps take it as a puzzle game, or as a way of returning Mr. Uzumaki's feeling. It became more interesting to think if you knew how dad used to hide himself away from Uncle Itachi's sharp eyes, although it appeared to be in vain every time.

to be continued


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